


When I Fall in Love (it will be forever)

by MotherMaple



Series: For a good time, call Betty [4]
Category: Riverdale (TV 2017)
Genre: F/M, Fluff, Weddings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-27
Updated: 2018-03-27
Packaged: 2019-04-13 12:04:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,385
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14111952
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MotherMaple/pseuds/MotherMaple
Summary: “Betty,” he breathed, catching her outstretched hand and pressing it to his lips, staring at her. He tried to find the words to tell her, but there was nothing. No description could come close to the vision of sheer beauty that she presented. His gaze flitted over her face, taking in her faint blush, the vivid green of her eyes, the gently curving smile that he knew so well. “You -” He shook his head and cupped her cheek, leaning down and pressing a reverent kiss to her lips. “You’re everything,” he whispered. “I can’t even tell you how you look right now.”





	When I Fall in Love (it will be forever)

**Author's Note:**

> This is a sequel to For a good time, call Betty and The Other Tiffany, but it can be read on its own if you prefer. 
> 
> If you really want to get lost in it (as I did while writing, to the point where my three-year-old is now wandering around humming this song) you should play Pachelbel's Canon while you read.
> 
> The quote mentioned in Jughead's speech is from Anne's House of Dreams by LM Montgomery. 
> 
> Hope you like it!

 

Reggie flopped down on the bench next to Jughead, lacing his fingers behind his head and leaning back comfortably. “You look like shit.”

 

Jughead looked over at the grinning face of his best friend and rolled his eyes. “Thanks, man. I appreciate that, really.”

 

“I’m just bugging you. Here,” Reggie said, handing Jughead a small flask. “Take a hit of that, you’ll feel better.”

 

“I’m not getting drunk,” Jughead said, handing the flask back. “Not today. Last week was bad enough.”

 

Reggie laughed, with a look of fond reminiscence on his face. “Never thought I’d see you doing karaoke, man. Taylor Swift would have been proud. Anyway,” he forced the flask back into Jughead’s hand, “it’s peppermint tea. Good for the nerves.”

 

“You carry around a flask of tea?” Jughead opened the cap and gave a tentative sniff. “Seriously?”

 

Surreptitiously looking around, Reggie reached into his pocket and pulled out a handful of tube-shaped flasks. “Among other things. Got some ginkgo water here, kombucha, natural ginger ale…Anything a nervous groom might need to get through the day.”

 

“I’m not nervous about the wedding.” Jughead took a long sip of tea and shuddered. “That’s disgusting. It’s like drinking toothpaste.” He capped the flask and handed it back. “Thanks, but I’ll just suck it up.”

 

“Whatever. What’s the matter then? You look like you just found out you’ve got a final you didn’t study for.”

 

Jughead laughed, leaning back on the pristine white bench and surveying the lake house. “Haven’t had a final in what, three years? I’m not nervous, it’s just a lot to take in.”

 

Somewhere, in one of the mansion’s dozen bedrooms, Betty was getting ready. In less than an hour, they’d be married and the months of planning - by which he meant the months of letting the wedding planner run wild while he and Betty signed the required cheques - would culminate in what would hopefully be the perfect night.

 

“Which part?” Reggie checked the labels on his flasks and opened the one marked ‘v8’. “You’re not getting cold feet, are you?”

 

“No. God no, never. Sometimes I just can’t believe she said yes.”

 

“Didn’t she tell you she was going to say yes like four years before you asked her?”

 

“Entirely beside the point. She’s way too good for me, she fell in love with me anyway, and now she’s going to marry me. Let me bask in my disbelief.”

 

Reggie stood up and clapped Jughead on the shoulder. “Hold on to that feeling, dude. As long as we always act like we know they’re too good for us, we can’t screw up that badly.”

 

“You’re telling me to let insecurity shape the parameters of my behaviour? Set my moral compass by an inferiority complex?”

 

“It’s not an inferiority complex, Hemingway. It’s trying to be the guy you think she deserves.” Reggie waved to a delivery driver and started making his way across the expansive, brilliant green lawn. “In other words: be yourself, jackass. She loves you for a reason.”

 

“Great pep talk, Reg,” Jughead chuckled, leaning his head on the back of the bench and running his hands through his hair. “Thanks.”

 

He knew he had nothing to be nervous about, and he really wasn’t. He and Betty had been best friends for twenty-one years, madly in love for five of them. Their fights were few and far between, usually brought on by external forces like the ridiculous hours at Betty’s job in the NYPD, and their life together was so good that he often found himself wondering if it was all a dream. But then, that was nothing new - their relationship had always been nothing short of idyllic.

 

She’d been making him happy since kindergarten, with no sign of letting up, and he was pretty sure she felt the same about him. They were, as always, perfect together.

 

Knowing that he was going to stand up in front of all of their friends and most of their family in less than an hour, and declare himself hers forever -  to promise to love her and give her every part of himself for the rest of his life - filled him with a sense of utter peace and profound responsibility.

 

His marriage vows meant something to him - he’d never, in twenty-one years, had any intention of not loving Betty (one way or another), or doing everything in his power to make her happy; but there seemed to be a certain gravitas involved in turning that certainty into a legally binding promise.

 

He really was the luckiest son-of-a-bitch on the planet. He’d long suspected it, but as he looked around the beautiful Airbnb they’d rented out for the wedding, and pictured himself and Betty exchanging rings under the gauze-draped tent, he was sure.

 

The sun hung low in the September sky, fairy lights were draped around the house and the surrounding trees, and the sparkling white tent was decorated within an inch of its life with exotic-sounding chairs, flowers, and enough tulle to keep every mosquito in the state away. He’d had very little say in it; he and Betty had agreed on the location and the budget, ‘hmmd’ approvingly at a few Pinterest boards and left the rest in the hands of the professionals. Neither of them really cared if the peonies were ‘blush’ or ‘bashful’. They wanted a nice wedding, but not the stress that could have gone with it.

 

“Tell me what to wear and when to show up,” she’d joked when they signed the contract with the wedding planner. “I’ll try not to have court that day.”

 

Reggie had cursed a blue streak when he found out about the arrangement - memories of his own wedding planning experience still haunted his dreams - and Archie had breathed a sigh of relief, noting the contemplative yet approving look that had crossed Veronica’s face.

 

In Jughead’s opinion, it couldn’t have gone better. The venue looked amazing, Betty was happy, and there hadn’t been a single discussion about place settings - Windsor or otherwise.

 

“That’s everything,” Reggie said, coming back with a box of flowers. “Beebee’s bouquet, your buttonhole, and whatever the hell you call the thing for Lilibet.”

 

“Could it be a bouquet?” Jughead asked drily. “I don’t think it has a fancy name.”

 

“Everything here has a fancy name, man, you can be sure of that.”

 

Jughead smiled and took the proffered box. “I’ll take your word for it.”

 

Glancing at his watch, Reggie waved at the beckoning wedding planner and punched Jughead lightly on the shoulder. “Time’s up, bachelor. See you on the other side.”

 

“Thanks, man.” Jughead stood up and grasped Reggie’s hand, pulling him into a tight embrace. “Don’t make me say it.”

 

Reggie laughed and pounded Jughead’s back affectionately. “You too. Good luck.”

 

They pulled back, gripping each other’s arms for a half second, then grinned and broke apart. Taking a deep breath, Jughead wrapped his arms around the box of flowers and made for the house. In the foyer, he met the photographer’s assistant; a harried-looking young woman who had clearly been hovering in wait.

 

“Mr Jones,” she said breathlessly. “I’m supposed to go with you. Mrs Mantle and Miss Lodge insisted that we get pictures of you seeing Miss Cooper in her dress.”

 

“I know, Annie. I’ve had my marching orders, too.” He smiled at her in mock commiseration and gestured for her to precede him up the stairs.

 

“Harper’s already with Miss Cooper,”’ she explained, scampering up two steps at a time. “And I’ll just sneak in ahead of you so we can both shoot at once.”

 

“Whatever you say.” Jughead hadn’t initially been thrilled at the idea of what he’d hoped would be a private moment being intruded upon by the photographers, but when Cheryl had confessed that her favourite picture out of thousands of magazine-quality prints of her own wedding was a candid shot of Reggie waiting for her at the top of the aisle, he’d relented.

 

They reached the top of the stairs and Annie took the box of flowers from him and set it on a chair, then stood and studied Jughead critically, making minor adjustments to his suit and frowning at the curl that lay over his forehead. “Think Harry Potter, Annie. Just accept the hair and move on - there’s nothing you can do.”

 

She laughed and produced a lint brush from her pocket, giving his jacket a quick once-over. “I think you’ll pass inspection, anyway, Mr Jones. Just give me a second to get in there.”

 

He gave a winking salute and dutifully turned away from the door so Annie could slip into the room where Cheryl and Veronica were helping Betty get ready. As the door opened, he heard the sounds of excited chatter, Betty’s rich voice floating into the hall over everything. “Is it that time already?” he heard her ask.

 

There was a flurry of activity and then Cheryl’s head peeked out. “Well, well, well. You do clean up nicely, Jones.”

 

“Thanks, Cher. My compliments to your hairdresser - the horns are hardly visible.”

 

She laughed indulgently and stepped into the hall. An odd friendship had developed between the two of them over the years, originally via their mutual affection for Reggie and Betty, but deepening into something real. “She’s ready, and you’re going to die.”

 

The poorly-suppressed excitement in her voice was so uncharacteristic that Jughead was momentarily taken aback. “If I do, don’t bury me in this suit,” he said, rubbing his hands surreptitiously on his trousers. It was the first time in his life that he could ever remember having butterflies. He itched to see Betty, who always had a calming effect on him, and wished for a fleeting moment that they could run hand-in-hand down the stairs and head for the nearest registry office, just the two of them, and get on with the business of being married.

 

Vaguely, he remembered that Cheryl had once advised them to do that very thing.

 

“Jug,” she said quietly, just before she let him into Betty’s suite. “It goes by fast. Make sure you enjoy it.”

 

“Thanks, Cheryl.” He squeezed her arm as he walked past, searching the room for his bride.

 

 _His bride_.

 

And there she was, standing by the window looking out over the lake and the grounds, watching the bustle of guests making their way under the tent.

 

She’d told him excitedly about her dress, back when Veronica had first dragged her to Kleinfeld’s; _‘tea length, for something different, lace sleeves, tulle skirt. A little bit Grace, a little bit Audrey.’_ He’d smiled and nodded, but not bothered to picture her in it. He knew that anything he could imagine would fall spectacularly short of the real thing.

 

He’d been right.

 

The pop of flashbulbs and the click of camera shutters didn’t even permeate his brain as he watched her turn gracefully around, the light of the evening sun filtering through her golden hair, loose in a cascade of curls around her shoulders. He heard himself draw a shuddering breath as the rest of the room faded into shadows, all the light seeming to centre on Betty as she held out her hand and walked toward him.

 

He stood rooted to the spot watching her approach with what was sure to be a completely gobsmacked look on his face. When she reached him, her eyes sparkled with the promise of tears and what he thought he recognized as sheer joy.

 

“Betty,” he breathed, catching her outstretched hand and pressing it to his lips, staring at her. He tried to find the words to tell her, but there was nothing. No description could come close to the vision of sheer beauty that she presented. His gaze flitted over her face, taking in her faint blush, the vivid green of her eyes, the gently curving smile that he knew so well. “You -” He shook his head and cupped her cheek, leaning down and pressing a reverent kiss to her lips. “You’re everything,” he whispered. “I can’t even tell you how you look right now.”

 

“It’s okay, Jug,” she said, taking both his hands in hers and turning her eyes up to study him. “It’s all over your face.”

 

“You’re stunning.” He couldn’t stop staring at her, his brain desperately trying to come up with something, anything, that didn’t come across as completely inadequate. “I could look at you forever and it wouldn’t be enough.”

 

A radiant smile broke across her face. “We’ve got forever. You and me, ‘til death us do part.”

 

“All the days of my life.” He was vaguely aware of Annie and Harper dancing around them, clicking away on their cameras, but he blocked it out, all of his attention on Betty as they stood, foreheads pressed together and hands joined between their hearts, whispering to each other. “How did I get so lucky?”

 

“I’m the lucky one. You fell in love with me and made all this happen.”

 

He tilted his head and kissed her once more, murmuring against her lips, “Marry me?”

 

Eyes closed and nose still pressed against his, she giggled and nodded. “Right now?”

 

“Right now.” He raised her hand and pressed another kiss to the back of it. “Are you ready?”

 

“So ready.” She took a step back and reached up to softly stroke her thumb against his cheek. “You look amazing, Jug.”

 

He shrugged and smiled dismissively. No one was going to be looking at him - _except her_ , he reminded himself. “I’m glad you think so.”

 

Annie came over, clutching the box of flowers, and hesitantly cleared her throat. “I’m sorry to interrupt, but we’ve just got enough time before the sun goes down if you want pictures outside after the ceremony.” She held out a sprig of heather and roses to Betty and moved out of the way, letting the photographer move closer.

 

“Remember, Betts, the quickest way to a man’s heart is through his rib cage,” he teased, eyeing the pin on the stem of the boutonniere.

 

She laughed, biting her lip in concentration as she pressed the anchor through his lapel. “Your heart’s safe with me, Jug, don’t worry.” Annie handed her a pin guard and she slipped it over the point, patting his chest fondly and smiling up at him. “See? No blood.”

 

“Always the sharpshooter. I’ve got Lilibet’s flowers here, too. Where is she?”

 

“Bathroom, I think. Polly said she could wear some makeup, and the negotiations got noisy.”

 

“And Ron?”

 

Betty looked at him quizzically. “Didn’t you see her when you came in? You passed her in the doorway.”

 

A hazy recollection of Veronica greeting him as she slipped into the hallway after Cheryl fluttered around the fringes of his subconscious and he chuckled. “No. I guess I only had eyes for you.”

 

Annie scooped Betty’s bouquet out of the box and handed it to her, prodding her towards the door. “We really should get started, Miss Cooper.”

 

Betty nodded and took Jughead’s hand, Lilibet’s pomander of peonies dangling from his wrist. “Let’s do this.”

 

Veronica and Cheryl were already gone when they went into the hallway with Annie and Harper. Lilibet was waiting, smiling proudly, apparently very satisfied with her pale pink lipgloss and a smattering of pixie dust on her cheeks. “You look beautiful, Aunty Betty.”

 

“Thanks, Lil.” Betty put her arm around her nine-year-old niece and kissed the top of her head. “You too.”

 

“Just like Cinderella,” Jughead teased, holding out her flowers. “Although you’ve grown a bit since the last time we danced together.”

 

She took the bunch of peonies and looped it over her wrist, grinning up at him. “Maybe this time I can just stand on your toes.”

 

“Sounds good. Put me on your dance card.” He laughed at the look of confusion on her face. “Never mind, just save me a dance, Princess.”

 

“Okay,” she said happily. “Is it time? Mom already went downstairs.”

 

Jughead looked at Annie for confirmation and she nodded, dashing down the stairs to warn the wedding planner. “Alright, then. Let’s get married.”

 

There was no official bridal party, no processional, no formality, and Betty had adamantly refused to walk down the aisle without him, or be given away. _“We’re doing this together, Jughead. You and me, side by side.”_ Only Lilibet would precede them to the altar, fulfilling Jughead’s promise of so many years ago.

 

As they made their way across the lawn, a swell of music reached them - Pachelbel's Canon played by a quartet of local music students -  and Betty took a deep breath, gripping his hand tightly. “This is incredible, Jug. It looks like a fairy tale.”

 

“It is a fairy tale, Betts.”

 

They reached the tent and she slipped her hand into his elbow, smiling brilliantly at the dozens of guests seated at round tables. “So this is what happily ever after looks like.”

 

Awestruck whispers followed them up the aisle; guests - people who had known them all their lives - turning to each other in wonder at the sight of her. Jughead even caught a glimpse of Betty’s salty old Captain wiping away tears on the hem of the tablecloth.

 

They reached the officiant to the fading of the music, one tiny squeak by the smallest violinist, and gentle laughter from the congregation.

 

Afterwards, he’d never remember a word of the ceremony; the ripple of laughter at Betty’s stumbling over his real name; the officiant kindly reminding him that he had to say ‘I will’ out loud rather than just nodding absently while he stared at Betty. He wouldn’t remember the cheers as he took his wife in his arms and kissed her, or her flinging her arms around his neck and whispering how much she loved him; and he’d jump, startled, while he watched the video for the first time and a swarm of butterflies erupted out of boxes behind the altar as he and Betty turned and ran back down the aisle.

 

He would remember that she smelled like gardenias; the absolute trust on her face as she promised ‘she would’;  that her hand shook as she slid his ring onto his finger (engraved _Love Always_ ) and that he’d tried to put her ring ( _{no matter what}_ ) on her pinky by mistake only to have her burst into quiet laughter and softly kiss him, right in the middle of the ceremony. He’d remember Betty thanking him when he handed her a handkerchief to wipe her eyes, and then having to ask for it back to wipe his own.

 

The receiving line would forever be a merciful blur, the photographs even more so, and for once in his life, he had no idea what he’d eaten. It wasn’t until he stood to toast his bride that his brain seemed to catch up with time, and the whole room came into crystal-clear focus.

 

He cleared his throat self-consciously and tapped lightly on his glass. “Hi,” he said into the microphone, once the room was quiet. “Thank you all for coming. Betty and I - you all met my wife, right? Elizabeth Jones, over there in the white dress? - we’re so touched that you could be here with us today.” He smiled over at her, winking, and turned back to the room.

 

“The last time I made a speech like this was at Cheryl and Reggie’s wedding, five years ago. That was the night that my best friend, my soulmate, the love of my life, told me that she wanted to marry me someday. I toasted Reggie and Cheryl and said that Reggie, who’s already the best man I know, could only turn into a better man with Cheryl to love him. Today, he reminded me to always behave like I know Betty’s too good for me,” he paused to let the laughter die down, “and to always try to be the man I think she deserves.”

 

He stopped to take a sip of water and walked over to stand behind Betty, resting his hand on her shoulder. “Now, that’s a tall order, because this is the most extraordinary woman I’ve ever met. I’ve known her for twenty-one years, and there’s never been a moment when I didn’t think of her as the standard to which all other mere mortals could only aspire.” She raised her hand to cover his and leaned her head against his arm.

 

“She doesn’t like it when I say that - she thinks it’s an impossible image to maintain. But it’s the truth. If I can borrow a phrase from a better writer than myself, ‘Her beauty is the least of her dower, and she is the most beautiful woman I’ve ever known.’ Betty’s heart is legendary, her kindness, her generosity, her intelligence. She’s my closest family and my truest friend, and I would have been lost without her all these years. I’ve seen her stumble and fall, I’ve seen her fail and try again, I’ve seen her succeed, and win, and soar. I love everything about her: her light and her shadows, her hopes and her fears, and it is my honour and privilege to be the man she’s chosen to trust with her incredible heart and her happiness.”

 

He gripped her shoulder when he felt tears falling onto his hand and crouched down to look in her eyes. “You are the greatest gift I could ever ask for. I love you more than anything, and I can’t wait to grow old with you.”

 

He wasn’t sure at which point he’d stopped speaking into the microphone, but the guests continued to watch with rapt attention as Betty leaned over and wrapped her arms around him, hiding her face in his shoulder.

 

“You’re too much, Jug,” she whispered, her tears trickling down the side of his neck. “You’re the only one who’s seen all my messes, and you still talk about me like that.”

 

“Your messes are beautiful, too.”

 

She sat back and caught his face in both hands, kissing him softly. “I love you so much, and I’m so proud to be your wife.”

 

“Not nearly as proud as I am to be your husband.” He stood up and spoke into the microphone again. “To Betty.”

 

As they all drank to her, he couldn’t help feeling a little awestruck - two hundred people calling her name, and she only had eyes for him.

.

.

.

 

Whatever misguided person had insisted that choreographed first dances were the way to go had really ruined it for the general population, Jughead decided. What, he wondered, was the point of performing like a circus monkey, counting steps and worrying about turns, twirls and dips, when you had the option to simply hold her close and whisper in her ear, blinded by spotlights that made it seem like you were the only two people in the room? How could the most intricate steps ever compare to her temple pressed against your cheek, your hand curved around her waist, the slight brush of her skirt against your knees as you swayed gently together?

 

He’d never meant to fall in love with her; had, in fact, been mortified when he did. Maybe it had been inevitable, even if they’d never suspected it. Maybe they’d created the perfect storm themselves; written and fulfilled their own prophecy without knowing it. They’d never meant for their love to be romantic, but they had known that it was forever, that they were the most important people in the world to each other, and it had been an absolute no-brainer when it came time to choose a song for their first dance.

 

_When I give my heart, it will be completely,_

_Or I’ll never give my heart…_

 

“This is perfect,” Betty whispered, resting her cheek on his shoulder. “We couldn’t have asked for a better day.”

 

It was a word she rarely used, saving it for small moments of complete bliss. He’d heard her say it in bed a few times; once in a while when he cooked her favourite meal; one time when they’d rented a vintage convertible and gone to see _Jaws_ at a restored drive-in. He’d never heard her call an entire day _perfect_.

 

If she chose today of all days to describe that way, he couldn’t ask for anything else. “Completely perfect.”

  
  
  


 

 

He let her go reluctantly when the song ended, wishing they could stay in their bubble for the rest of the reception because if any moment had the power to shatter her happiness, it would be the second dance of the night.

 

Alice, having finally learned about Tiffany, had sent back the Coopers’ invitation unopened, marked simply ‘return to sender’, and Betty had cried about it for weeks. Eventually, she had decided that she didn’t really want her mother at her wedding, but she had hoped that Hal might change his mind.

 

He hadn’t, and now instead of sharing a dance with her own father, she had asked FP to step in. His relationship with Jughead was only marginally better than Betty’s with her mother, but while Alice had failed by trying to cruelly mould Betty into something she wasn’t, FP had simply not been there. He loved Jughead, encouraged him, but hadn’t been great at providing the necessities of life. His presence had been sporadic at best, but you could forgive a lot if you loved someone.

 

And Jughead loved his father, in spite of his many faults. He knew, too, that Betty had a soft spot for him. Although inclined to hold a grudge over the unfair burden that FP had placed on Jughead’s shoulders - forcing a young boy to fend for himself and his younger sister in ways that no child should have to do - she never forgot the way FP had treated her.

 

When Betty and Jughead started high school - Jughead as the son of the leader of a gang in transition - FP knew that he was sending his child out with a target on his back. The Serpents were no longer a criminal organization by that point, but they still had enemies. The first time Jughead had been in a brawl at school, FP had taken him to the basement of the Whyte Wyrm and taught him how to fight. And, where Jughead went in those days, so too went Betty.

 

Later, when FP started to see the effect Alice had on Betty’s self-esteem, he’d gone one step further and taught her how to win. She never used the skills he’d taught her, at least not outside of a gym, but the confidence it gave her had been a talisman through every lecture about her weight, her clothes, her friends, her extracurriculars.

 

So, Jughead waltzed Polly instead of Alice around the floor while Betty danced with FP, and he was relieved to see her laughing with his father, apparently unconcerned with the absence of her own.

 

Eventually, Jason cut in, and Jellybean took Polly’s place, then Veronica. It was hours later, while Jughead stood on the sidelines watching Reggie lead Betty through a truly impressive salsa number, that Cheryl tapped on his shoulder with her talon-like fingernails.

 

“Do you salsa, Jones?” she asked wryly, as though she already knew the answer.

 

He could dance, but he’d never attempted anything more complicated than a waltz; and whatever Reggie was doing looked complicated. “Do you value your toes, Mantle?”

 

She chuckled and bowed her head in a half salute. “Consider me warned. I need to talk to you.” Taking his hand, she led him to the dance floor and arranged him to her liking, nudging his feet in the right direction and counting softly with nods for emphasis.

 

“Is this another threat?” he asked, once he’d caught onto the steps. “I haven’t forgotten about the fence, or the acreage, or the private graveyard.”

 

“No,” she said quietly, looking unusually nervous. “I need you to do something for me.”

 

Swallowing his surprise, he nodded. “Name it.” Cheryl was one of the few people he’d bury a body for, although he doubted she’d bother to ask. Of all people, she was capable of cleaning up her own mess.

 

“How would you feel about being Godfather to a new generation of Blossom twins?”

 

Startled, he tripped over his own foot and barely missed her sandal-clad toes. “What?” He stepped back, still holding her waist, and gaped at her. “You’re pregnant?”

 

“Just past three months,” she said, smiling serenely. It was such an odd look on her that, for a moment, he didn’t know what to say.

 

He knew she and Reggie been trying for years, often with heartbreaking results. If anything at all could have made his day more perfect, this news was it. “That’s amazing,  Cher,” he said softly, glancing unconsciously at her still-flat belly. “Congratulations.”

 

“Thank you.” She glanced across the dance floor at Betty and Reggie, still dancing up a storm. “He’s been dying to tell you, but we wanted to wait the full three months. And, of course, we didn’t want to steal your thunder.”

 

“This is the exact opposite of stealing my thunder. I don’t think I’d be happier if it was my own kid.”

 

“You say that now,” she laughed. “I thought the same thing when Lilibet was born. Well. They’re due in the spring so you have plenty of time to childproof that fancy new house of yours.”

 

Veronica’s wedding present had been the waiving of a down payment on Lodge Industries’ newest row of brownstones. Jughead’s most recent promotion meant that they could easily afford the mortgage payments, but it wasn’t originally what they’d pictured when they decided to look for a starter home.

 

“I’ll cover every outlet myself,” he promised, already picturing a pair of tiny hybrids of Cheryl and Reggie crawling across his imported maple floors. “And I’ll ask Betty to keep her weapon at work.”

 

“I don’t think we have to worry about them opening her safe just yet,” Cheryl said dryly. “But outlet covers would be a good start.”

 

“Consider it done.”

 

She watched him thoughtfully for a few minutes, leading him through the dance that he’d forgotten they were doing, amusement evident all over her face. “You look like you just won the lottery.”

 

“I kind of feel like it. Fuck, what a day.” He laughed a little incredulously and shook his head. “A new wife and a couple of babies to look forward to.” Finally picking up on the fact that he was being led around the dance floor like a show pony, he took over and pulled Cheryl into a simple turn, dipping her carefully. “You guys are going to be great parents.”

 

“Hopefully. I guess time will tell.”

  
  
  


 

It turned out that Reggie had broken the news to Betty at the same time Cheryl told Jughead, and by the time all the hugging, laughing and crying was over, the news had filtered to most of the other guests. Between Lilibet pledging herself as babysitter in perpetuity (as soon as she turned twelve), Veronica offering her professional services to decorate a nursery fit for royalty, and Jughead sending the caterer out for another crate of champagne, the focus quickly shifted from Betty and Jughead to Reggie and Cheryl.

 

“Think they’ll notice if we leave?” he whispered to Betty under the cover of raucous laughter at Betty’s great-aunt telling the story of her first tentative steps into making her own baby food. ( _‘Carrot stains don’t come out, dear. Remember that.’_ )

 

“Probably not. I think it’s traditional for the bride and groom to leave before the guests, anyway.”

 

“Wanna get out of here?” He nodded towards the house and tugged lightly on her hand. “I don’t know about you, but my feet are killing me.”

“Ugh, yes,” she moaned pitifully. “And I can’t wait to get out of this dress.”

 

A married man should be mature, Jughead reminded himself. “Not even going to touch that one, babe. Come on, let’s say our goodnights.”

 

Betty decided not to throw her bouquet, instead presenting it to Cheryl for good luck, and they slowly made their way out of the tent, stopping every few feet to bid farewell to another of their guests until they reached the cool night air.

 

“Back to porridge and old clothes, hey?” Jughead teased, nudging her shoulder. “What a day.”

 

“Yeah.” She smiled at her feet as they picked their way across the lawn in the dark. “Are you happy?”

 

He stopped just short of the porch steps and pulled her close, wrapping his arms around her so she had to lean back to look at him. “There is no one on this planet happier than I am right now.”

 

“Oh, I bet I could give you a run for your money,” she said softly, reaching up and stroking his hair. “You’re everything I could have ever dreamed of.”

 

“You _are_ everything I dream of, and the best part is, you’re still there when I wake up.” He kissed her softly, holding her close in the moonlight, her eyelashes brushing against his cheek. When she pulled away and made to go into the house, he caught her hand and playfully tugged her back in. “Excuse me, Mrs Jones. I’m supposed to carry you over the threshold.”

 

“Of course, Mr Jones. How silly of me.” She giggled as he scooped her up, her frothy skirts engulfing his hand so that he couldn’t open the front door.

 

The interior stairs were so narrow that every photograph on the wall was in danger of being sent flying by her bent knees, and by the first landing he gave up in exasperation and tossed her over his shoulder, climbing the rest of the stairs with one arm looped around her waist and the other hand far higher up her skirt than was necessary.

 

“I thought you didn’t want to do a garter toss, wife of mine?” he teased, snapping the elastic against her thigh and tossing her on the bed.

 

“If you mean I didn’t want you sticking your head up my skirt in front of my Captain and two hundred assorted friends and family? No, I didn’t.”

 

“Oh yeah?” He kicked his shoes off and crawled onto the bed, trapping her. “Your Captain’s not here now.”

 

She laughed and ran her fingers through his hair, pulling him down and pressing a lingering kiss to his lips. “That sounded like a hint, but I really need a shower before we do anything else.”

 

“You say that like I’m not wearing wool in the summer.”

 

“Are you fishing for an invitation to join me, or are you saying we both stink so it doesn’t matter?”

 

He pressed his nose into her hair, sniffing exaggeratedly. “You do not stink, but definitely the first one. Honestly, as much as I’d love to do wicked things to you right now, I’m so tired I don’t think I could get it up if my life depended on it.”

 

“Oh, God, me too! I was just thinking how awful it would be if I fell asleep in the middle of it!”

 

Huffing a short laugh against her neck, he sat up and shrugged his jacket off.“Yeah, please don’t do that. I don’t think my ego would ever recover.”

 

“Morning sex is better anyway.” Betty dragged herself off the bed and stood in front of Jughead, gathering her hair in one hand and pulling it over her shoulder. “Unbutton me?”

 

Confronted with what seemed to be every pearl button ever made, he swore under his breath and stood up, futilely fiddling with the top button before throwing up his hands in exasperation. “There’s no buttonhole! How does this work?”

 

“It’s a snap, Jug. The buttons are fake.”

 

He didn’t need to see her face to know that she was trying not to laugh at him. “You’re such a brat.” The hidden snap at the top gave way to reveal a zipper running the length of the bodice, and he shook his head in wonder at the complexities of women’s formal wear. “So,” he murmured, pressing his lips to the soft skin of her shoulder. “What secrets are hiding under this lovely dress?”

 

He dragged the zipper down and helped her peel the dress off, revealing miles of silky bare skin and - “Really? It’s Saturday, Betts. These say Tuesday.”

 

“The Saturday ones aren’t blue.” She shrugged, flicking her foot and sending her dress sailing across the room to land on an armchair. “And they’re comfortable.”

 

“And here I was expecting something to go with the lace,” he teased, tossing away his shirt and tie. “Do I get to take this thing off?”

 

“Of course.” Betty sat on the bed and raised her leg, resting her foot on his shoulder and pressing down until he dropped to his knees. “That’s why I wore it.”

 

Half of him wished he had the energy to take advantage of his position as he peppered her thigh with teasing kisses and dragged the garter down her leg with his teeth, but exhaustion won out. He climbed to his feet and held out his hands to her. “Come on, Missus. I’ll race you to the shower.”

  
  
  


A makeup wipe stripped off the rest of the bridal facade and she stood under the searing hot water with him, drenched curls clinging to her shoulders as they sleepily helped each other wash away the effects of the day, still ethereally beautiful but more familiar. His best friend, open and trusting, looking the same as she had at sixteen when she’d sneak into his room in the middle of the night, hiding from her mother; the same as she had at twenty when she’d cried on his shoulder after a bad breakup; and at twenty-two when he’d fallen in love with her and thought he’d ruined everything.

 

That was the woman he took to bed that night, curling around her as he’d done a million times before, gently stroking her bare skin and letting her slip her cold feet under his legs. The woman who fell asleep in his arms with a murmured ‘I love you, Juggie.’ The woman he woke up with for the first time as her husband, who he made love to, slowly, worshipping her with his body until she shuddered in his arms and gasped his name.

 

The woman who had his heart. Completely.

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  



End file.
